


A Doom Unescaped

by Luthien



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Airplanes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Carnival, F/M, First Kiss, Fortune Telling, Life and Death situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22160119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: Modern AU where Jaime, not Cersei, gets his fortune told by Maggy the Frog.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 91
Kudos: 306





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nire/gifts).



> Nire gave me the ficlet prompt "a doomed kiss" - and it turned into something longer than a ficlet.
> 
> This first chapter acts as a sort of prologue. The rest of it, including Brienne, the doom _and_ the kiss, won't be far behind.

They probably wouldn't have noticed the tent if Addam hadn't staggered out of the Gravitron and been noisily sick all over Jaime's trainers. Dragging Addam out of the way of the people queueing for their turn on the ride, Jaime had kept going until the two of them were around the corner, where he found a patch of grass that he could wipe his shoes—rather futilely—on. Beside him, Addam sank to the ground and sat with his head between his knees, taking great heaving breaths.

The day was not turning out quite as Jaime had anticipated. He'd turned thirteen the previous week, and somehow—he still didn't quite know exactly how—he'd managed to persuade his father that this meant he was old enough to attend the annual Lannisport agricultural show and fun fair without adult supervision. Tywin Lannister's only conditions had been to 'take your cousin with you, and don't do anything stupid!' Neither of these had seemed like particularly difficult requirements at the time. But that was before he and Addam had used some of Jaime's birthday money from Aunt Genna to eat their way through every food stand they could find, and then gone in search of the rides. That had been a mistake. Or, at least, those last four corn hounds on sticks that Addam had eaten had been a mistake. And the lemon cakes that he followed them up with probably hadn't helped either.

"Urk, I need something to drink," Addam said, when he finally raised his head.

"Just still water," Jaime said firmly. He didn't want to imagine the likely outcome, let alone be within range, if Addam tried drinking anything fizzy right now. He hauled Addam to his feet, and they wandered down to the drinks stand in the midst of the sideshows. Jaime bought two bottles of water; one for Addam to drink, the other for Jaime to use with a paper napkin to try to get the worst of the stink off his shoes. He didn't really have much success, but at least he got rid of the remaining chunks.

He chucked the now bright yellow napkin and the rest of the water into the bin next to the stall with the row of laughing jesters' heads, their open ceramic mouths rotating back and forth as they waited to be fed the balls that might or might not result in a prize. Jaime had a sudden mental picture of the jester heads spewing the balls back up. He shuddered inside, turned away—and spotted the tent, lurking right at the end of the row of sideshows.

It seemed like a strange sort of thing to be grouped with the jesters and Tully's magnetic fish pond and the wildling hi striker. Unlike most tents Jaime had ever seen, it was made out of what looked like silk rather than canvas, and its walls were the same deep crimson as the field on the Lannister coat of arms. The tent was covered in gold stars both large and small. Gold, like the Lannister lion. There was a sign above the door that said, in extravagantly curly writing: "Madame Maggy, Your Fortune For a Price."

Maybe it was the Lannister colours of the tent that drew Jaime's curiosity, or maybe it was simply how out of place it looked. It was tacky, yes, but tacky in a completely different way from the attractions that surrounded it. Whatever the reason, Jaime went to have a closer look, with Addam tagging along behind, complaining that fortune tellers were boring girly shit, and that they should try out the Kraken next.

"You go on the Kraken," he told Addam, digging in the pocket of his jeans for some silver stags and stuffing them into his cousin's hands. "I'll catch up with you in a few minutes, and then you can go on it again with me." Apart from anything else, it wouldn't hurt if Addam emptied whatever might be left in his stomach when Jaime was nowhere nearby.

Addam didn't need to be told twice. "See you in a few!" he yelled over his shoulder as he raced off in the direction of the Kraken, whose great metal tentacles could be seen swooping above the people queueing next to the entrance gate.

There was no queue outside Madame Maggy's tent. There wasn't a single other person waiting, so Jaime ducked in through the opening in the silk that served as a doorway and called, "Hello? Is there anybody here?"

"Good day, young man," said a voice so weirdly croaky that Jaime couldn't tell if the speaker was a man or a woman. He was standing in an outer room of some sort, but there was no sign of anyone else. There were a couple of chairs by the wall that must have been set there by some optimistic person who expected that there would be at least two people waiting their turn at some point today.

Long strings of multi-coloured crystal beads and little gold bells hung in the interior doorway on the other side of the room. They clinked and jangled as Jaime pushed them aside and entered the tent's main room.

The inside of Madame Maggy's tent was swathed in long bolts of black and yellow fabric, alternating with others in green and silver. A heavily scuffed carpet in a murky shade of green covered the floor. Overall, it wasn't very Lannister-ish, so it didn't call to him the way the outside of the tent had, but he didn't spend much time thinking about that because right then he noticed the person sitting at the small round table in the corner. Even looking right at them, Jaime couldn't tell whether they were a man or a woman. He was barely certain that they were a living person. They were covered from head to—presumably—toe in voluminous black robes, and their face was yellow, like the faded pages of an old book, or one of the dummies in the waxwork museum he'd visited the last time he'd gone to King's Landing. There was also a huge, horrible wart with a long black hair growing out of it right in the middle of one wrinkly cheek.

"I am Madame Maggy," the person—well, probably woman—said in a raspy sort of voice, and cackled.

Jaime had never heard anyone cackle before, but he knew one when he heard one. He watched, fascinated, as she took a set of false teeth from a very ordinary looking glass of water on the table beside her and pushed them into her mouth. He'd only ever heard about toothless crones in the stories that Tyrion's nanny sometimes told, but he knew one of those when he saw one, too.

"Come. Sit," Madame Maggy commanded, indicating the rickety wooden chair opposite her with an imperious wave of her hand—though it was so gnarled and bent that it looked more like a claw. Her words sounded a lot clearer now that she had teeth in her mouth, at least.

 _A Lannister never does anything just because someone tells him to—unless that someone is me._ Jaime heard his father's voice, as clearly as if he'd been standing right next to him, and stayed where he was.

"Well? Are you going to just stand there? Why else did you come in here if not to have your fortune told?"

It was a good point, and anyway, Jaime had never been very good at doing what his father told him. He went, and sat.

The crone held out a claw. "It is customary for one seeking his fortune to cross my palm with silver, but I think the price for a Lannister must be gold."

Jaime didn't ask how she knew who he was. She was a fortune teller after all. Even so, he didn't like the thought of being cheated, and yet he'd given all his silver stags to Addam. All he had left in his pocket were gold dragons and a few copper stars and pennies. Clearly, Madame Maggy somehow knew that, too.

"Okay." Jaime reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handful of dragons. He placed them one by one on her upturned hand. It wasn't a large hand, but still, for seven gold dragons his future had better be filled to the brim with good fortune.

Madame Maggy's talons closed shut as swiftly as the jaws of a steel trap, and only the jingle of the coins as she secreted them in some hidden pocket of her robes proved that they'd ever been there at all. She turned and took a shallow bowl from the shelf behind her. Setting it down in the middle of the table, she filled it with water from the jug sitting beside the glass that had held her false teeth. Jaime hoped that none of the water in the jug had ever been anywhere near those teeth.

"Your hand, young Mr Lannister."

Jaime was feeling more and more that this hadn't been a good idea, but it was too late now. He firmed his lips, determined, and held out his hand. Madame Maggy took it between her own, paper dry ones. She was wearing a number of rings on her left hand, he saw now, silver rings sporting huge, mysterious stones so dark that in the dim light of the tent they appeared black.

Madame Maggy ran a fingernail down the centre of Jaime's palm, and he shivered, as if he'd just felt a knife between his shoulder blades.

The old woman lifted her hand and jabbed her pointed fingernail right into the centre of his palm.

"Ow!" Jaime yelled, and pulled his hand back.

"Hold your hand over the bowl," Madame Maggy instructed, "and let a few drops of your blood flow from your veins into the water. Then we shall see what it has to tell us."

Jaime should have left. He knew it. It was the wise thing to do. But no one had ever accused him of being wise. He held his hand over the bowl, watching as his blood welled from the small wound and dropped into the water once, twice, and then again.

Madame Maggy pulled out a small plastic strip from somewhere.

"Look," she said, waving a hand above the bowl with a flourish while Jaime pressed the plaster to his still-bleeding palm.

Jaime looked. He expected to see a few small red splotches in the water, but instead the drops of blood had turned into swirls that looked almost like bright red snakes.

Madame Maggy tapped her finger—the same finger that she'd attacked him with—against the side of the bowl. The water swirled gently, and the snakes did too, slowly chasing each other around the bowl.

"You will travel," she said.

Well, that was disappointing. Jaime could have told her that himself for free. He'd already been to almost all of the Seven Kingdoms, and to Essos twice.

She tapped the side of the bowl again, twice this time. The snakes started moving a bit faster.

"And you will rise, so very high, and you will shine, golden lion of Lannister, as brightly as your house sigil, before one you trust implicitly betrays you, and you fall."

Jaime felt suddenly cold. "Are you saying someone's going to kill me someday?" he demanded.

The old woman looked at him unblinkingly, and tapped the side of the bowl three times in quick succession. She stared down at the snakes, which were moving rapidly now, seeming to twist and writhe in the water. "In the Riverlands you will meet your doom."

"So someone's going to kill me in the Riverlands?" Jaime felt sick to the stomach. He wondered what would happen if he threw up on the table and all over that bowl. If three drops of blood could do this, what could a stomachful of vomit achieve? Maybe at the very least it could stop the evil old crone's prediction from coming true.

The old woman didn't answer, but instead reached out and tapped the side of the bowl four times. As Jaime watched, the water turned completely red—the colour of his blood—and then black, and finally clear again. It looked just like it had when Madame Maggy had first poured the water from the jug. She picked up the bowl and emptied it into a bucket on the floor next to her chair.

"The waters have revealed no more," she said. "Good day, young Mr Lannister."

"What?" Jaime said. "That's it? You can't leave it there. Here, I'll give you more gold." He was already reaching into his pocket for some more dragons but the old woman shook her head.

"The waters show what they will, and only once. There is no changing it, and no explaining it. You may only learn the future in full by living it."

"Or dying in it," Jaime muttered. He got to his feet, and glowered down at her in what he hoped was a good imitation of Tywin Lannister at his most dangerous. Then, without another word, he turned and left, pushing the stupid crystals and bells out of the way as he went.

He emerged blinking into the sunlight, still feeling like he wanted to be sick. He wished he'd never come here. He wished _she'd_ never come here. He could do something about that, he realised—about Madame Maggy being here in the future, anyway. The fair was on Lannister land and, well, a Lannister always paid his debts, didn't he?

He didn't look back as he moved quickly past the sideshows, and didn't stop, or even look to right or left, until he found Addam waiting for him near the front of the queue for the Kraken.

"You got here just in time!" Addam said.

"How was it?" Jaime asked.

"Brilliant! I can't wait to go again."

"Did you throw up afterwards?"

"What? No! Well, not much," Addam admitted. "I don't think there's anything left now."

"Good," Jaime said.

"How was the fortune teller? Are you going to meet a tall stranger in the future who's going to sweep you off your feet?" Addam asked, fluttering his eyelashes at Jaime.

Jaime punched him in the shoulder. Not really that hard but:

"Oww!" Addam complained.

"No strangers. Someone I know is going to betray me, after I travel and… rise and shine?"

"Sounds like too many early mornings to me."

Jaime ignored that. "And I'm going to be killed in the Riverlands."

Addam stared at him. "Wow," he said. "That's _much_ cooler than I was expecting."

"Cooler?"

"It's better than dying in bed after a long, dull life. And anyway, it's easy to make sure that that last bit never happens."

"Is it?" Jaime frowned at his cousin.

Addam rolled his eyes. "She said it was going to happen in the Riverlands, right? Just make sure you never go to the Riverlands and you'll be fine!"

Jaime blinked. "That… makes sense," he said, surprised. Addam wasn't exactly known for being a deep thinker—or any sort of thinker.

The ride slowed and stopped before them, then. They waited impatiently while it emptied of people and then the ride operator opened the gate to let them in. They clambered into two seats at the end of one huge tentacle and strapped themselves in, and before long they were swooping up and down and around and around. It was exhilarating and terrifying and _fun_ —but a small voice in Jaime's head kept insisting the whole time that Addam's solution to his problem wasn't really a solution. If Jaime was meant to die in the Riverlands then fate would make sure he would get there one day.

The Kraken started slowing down, and after it finally came to a shuddering halt Jaime and Addam jumped down and staggered back out of the gate.

This time Jaime was the one who threw up all over his cousin's trainers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty-three years later, Jaime is on a flight over the Riverlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slipsthrufingers and Nire were both sure that this ficlet (that's what it was supposed to be, goddammit!) would get to 10k words. I was sure that it wasn't going to be anything like that long.
> 
> I was wrong.

_Twenty-three years later…_

Later, there would be a formal inquiry into just why the pilot was flying so far off course, and whether that was why what happened… happened, but the first Jaime knew of it was when he was jerked awake from his doze as they hit a patch of turbulence. The plane dipped alarmingly, and then rose, and for a moment Jaime felt as if his stomach was dipping and rising along with it. If he hadn't had quite so much experience of plane travel over the years, he might have been sick. From the noises coming from behind him, it sounded very like some of his fellow passengers were doing just that. But he'd been on flights beyond count, so instead of grabbing the paper bag from the pocket beneath the window, he lunged for his laptop, just in the nick of time before it slid right off his tray table and into the aisle.

He glanced at the flight tracker, blinked, and looked at it a bit more closely. They were over the Riverlands. The flight path didn't usually take them so far west, did it? He wasn't entirely sure. He didn't make a habit of flying from Winterfell to King's Landing—or from Winterfell to anywhere—if he could possibly avoid it. He hadn't had much choice this time, though. Not now that all his remaining business interests lay in the North.

Not now that Cersei had cornered him and then stabbed him in the back.

Well, not literally, obviously. If he'd been cornered, she wouldn't have been able to reach his back. Maybe a literal stabbing would have been kinder—certainly quicker and less painful—than what actually happened. He'd believed her, he'd _trusted_ her, when she said that this was the best way out of their current predicament. She'd be able to manage things much better if she controlled his stake in the family company instead of just having his full support. He'd sold his shares to her, at a peppercorn rate, on the understanding that when their current difficulties were over, she'd sell them back.

He should have known her better. He _did_ know her better. He knew that she had it in her to swindle and lie like that. He just hadn't been able to believe that she had it in her to do that to _him_.

He still had money, of course, even if it was only numbered in the tens of millions. It was more than enough for one person to live on, even if far more modestly than he was used to. He should have listened to Tyrion and diversified his portfolio years ago, but he'd been stupidly loyal, not just to his actual family but to the idea of the Lannister family as an entity in its own right. He'd diversified the interests of the family company as if they were the same as his own. He'd been so successful at identifying and snapping up inventive start-ups at the cutting edge of technology just before they became the Next Big Thing that he'd become known as the business Wunderkind of Westeros. Now—thanks to Cersei and his own stupid, blind trust—his only remaining business interest was a collection of gold mines to the north of Winterfell, given to him one birthday as a joke present by Tyrion, who knew just how much Jaime despised the freezing fucking North.

The plane bumped over more turbulence and actually shuddered this time. A few of the other passengers screamed. Jaime shut his laptop, slipped it into its carry satchel, and gripped the arms of his seat.

The cabin lights flickered, and there was a soft chime before the intercom crackled into life and the pilot's voice came on:

" _This is the captain. We've hit a bit of turbulence but it's nothing to worry about. The seatbelt sign has been turned back on. Please remain in your seats and ensure that all cabin luggage and devices are stowed safely in the overhead bins, or beneath the seat in front of you. Our crew will be-_ "

But Jaime never heard what the crew would be—serving drinks? Seated until the turbulence passed? Turned into direwolves to match the airline's logo? The intercom went silent, the lights went out, and the plane did more than dip this time. It plunged.

 _Oxygen mask_ Jaime thought, as it brushed against his face after being automatically released from above. He grabbed it and pressed it against his face as he tried to tune out the screams and cries that seemed to be coming from every direction—some of them even from within the business class cabin. He pulled the elastic over the back of his head and fixed the mask in place. The panicked shouts of the other passengers were joined by thumps and crashes now, the sounds of luggage and possibly people being thrown against the floor and sides of the depressurised cabin, and probably hurled up against the ceiling as well. And all the time, worst of all, the jet engines screamed so loudly that they drowned out almost everything else.

Worst of all, until they fell silent. Deathly silent.

 _I'm going to die_ , Jaime thought, feeling strangely calm. _I'm falling, and then I'm going to die **in the Riverlands**_. He let out a bark of laughter. He'd never really believed what that warty old witch of a fortune teller had predicted all those years ago, and yet he'd still gone out of his way to avoid the Riverlands ever after. He'd never set foot there—and now, he supposed, he never would. But he'd still fall there—quite literally—and he would meet his doom there, just as Madame Maggy had predicted.

Jaime closed his eyes, even though there wasn't really much point. It was pitch dark in the cabin, and a cloudy night outside the window obscured the moon and stars. He guessed he had five minutes—ten?—before they hit the ground, and that would be that. The end of everything, at least as far as he was concerned. He'd never see his brother again—or his sister. That was almost a relief, though he wished he could have said goodbye to Tyrion. He'd never see his apartment in King's Landing again, or witness the gothic splendour of the Rock spread out before him after negotiating that final hairpin bend on the Goldroad. He'd never have to spend even another minute in the frozen North, though, thank the gods. He'd never-

Something touched his shoulder. His eyes flew open and his breath caught in his throat, as he only just stopped himself from letting out some sort of less than dignified noise—not that anyone would be able to hear it in this din.

The lights flickered back on, just for a second, dazzling him, but he managed to make out a tall figure, a person, standing in the aisle next to the empty seat beside him. It was their hand that was touching his shoulder. The next moment, the cabin was plunged back into darkness. The engines half stuttered back into life and the plane lurched. The person pitched forward, knocked right off their feet, before landing heavily across his lap. They were wearing jeans and a button-up shirt, and the body beneath was long and lean and muscular. A man, clearly… Or not so clearly. As the person shifted against him, trying to pull free, their chest pressed against his and… No, that wasn't a man's chest.

With Jaime's help, the person—the woman—struggled into a sitting position and slid from his lap across the arm rest and into the vacant seat. Jaime reached up and grabbed the oxygen mask hanging above the woman, feeling clumsily in the dark for a few seconds until his fingers brushed her face. He held the mask in place, not sure that he'd been in time before she passed out from hypoxia until her hand reached up and covered his. He let go, leaving her to manage the mask for herself.

A moment later, he wasn't really surprised when he felt a touch—the plastic of an oxygen mask—against the curve of his ear and the attached airbag lying sideways against his head. His companion had pushed the bottom of the mask up above her mouth, and she was leaning in so close that he could feel the touch of her lips brushing against his earlobe as she spoke:

"I'm sorry for crashing in on you like that." The voice was unmistakably a woman's, though low-pitched, a sort of contralto. It was quite a pleasant, well-modulated voice, really. If this was the last voice Jaime ever heard… well, he could definitely do worse. "I can't get back to my seat," she explained. "There's stuff everywhere in the aisle."

There was also… noise. A million different things at once and the whoosh of escaping air, above the dreadful silence of the engines. Getting this close was the only way they'd be able to hear each other bar shouting, and maybe not even then. It was just as well that they seemed to be of a height, so no one had to lean down or reach up.

He turned his head, lifting a hand to touch her jaw, and yes, she understood immediately, moving her head so that when he pushed his mask up in turn, his lips were against her ear.

"Under the circumstances, it's not a problem," he said, and turned his head back for her response.

"I was in the toilet when whatever it was… Do you know what happened?"

Jaime shook his head, and then realised that of course she couldn't see him do that, and while she could feel his head moving she probably couldn't tell whether it was intentional or just from the shaking of the plane. He turned his head to her and said into her ear, "No, I don't know what happened. There was turbulence, and the announcement from the captain, and then…"

He felt her hand on his, trying to lift it, and so he let her guide it up to her face until his hand was clasping her jaw. There was no mistaking the movement when she nodded. And then her hand was on his chest, slipping up along his neck until she was cupping his face. The gentle pressure was a clear instruction, so he turned his head away.

"Do you mind if I ask your name? I'm Brienne." She sounded awfully calm. Unnaturally calm. Just like Jaime himself. Some people panicked when faced with the prospect of imminent and almost certain death. He was glad to discover that he wasn't one of them, and gladder still to have a like-minded companion in these final minutes. He might not be panicking, but he found that he didn't want to die alone.

Maybe the gods—if they existed, which he doubted—were smiling on him. Not much, obviously, or he wouldn't be in this plane hurtling towards the so very hard ground below, but maybe just a tiny bit.

Brienne turned her head to let him reply.

"Nice to meet you, Brienne, even if our acquaintance is probably going to be brief. My name's Jaime," he said, and turned his head even as he felt the slight pressure of her fingers against his cheek.

"Hello, Jaime," she said, once it was her turn again. "How long do you think we have before…?"

They hit a really strong patch of turbulence right then, so it was about half a minute—thirty precious seconds—before Jaime was able to lean in against Brienne's ear and reply, "I don't think we can have much more than five minutes left, given the altitude we were cruising at and how fast we seem to be descending." There wasn't any point in sugar-coating it. If he'd been the one in the position to ask that question, he would have wanted the facts. He had a strong feeling that Brienne would also appreciate plain speaking in this situation, and probably in any other.

Something clenched in his chest. Not fear, but regret, he thought. Yes, a pang of regret that he'd never get to talk to Brienne in any situation but this one. He was pretty sure he would have enjoyed having a proper conversation with her. But this was all they had, so he'd take it—and try not to think about the ground rushing towards them below.

"Thank you," Brienne said against his ear. "I prefer to know."

She leaned closer, her shoulder pressing against his—they were _definitely_ close to being the same height—and then her left hand closed over his right on the armrest between them. He turned his hand so that it was lying palm up and took her hand in his, squeezing it tight. Her hand was large for a woman, suited to what he guessed the rest of her dimensions must be like, but more slender than his. He imagined Brienne's long, elegant fingers squeezing his hand in return with strength equal to his.

Jaime wished this were an older plane, with the sorts of seats in business class that allowed for the armrest to be pushed back out of the way. He turned to tell Brienne so, but she must have turned to speak to him at the exact same moment, because instead of finding the shell of her ear he found himself mask to mask with her—and mouth to mouth.

It was the lightest possible brush of lips. He felt her mouth freeze against his. Embarrassed? He wanted to tell her not to be. There was no point. Not when their world was going to end in a matter of minutes.

He didn't tell her, though, because then her lips moved against his, in a soft but very definite kiss. He kissed her back, just as softly, savouring this one last gentle, caring human connection before the end.

And then the lights came back on.

Jaime froze: mouth, eyes, _everything_. Eyes of an astonishing shade of blue stared back at him from above Brienne's oxygen mask as the plane's engines roared back into life.

" _This is the captain speaking. Please remain seated with your seatbelt on, and continue to use your oxygen mask. If the person beside you needs help with theirs, please provide assistance. We've run into some bad weather, so we'll be making an unscheduled landing at Riverrun in a short time._ " The intercom shut off and the sound of the jets screamed even louder than before as the plane's path gentled into something more like an ordinary descent.

There were any number of things Jaime could have done right then, and one or two things that he probably should have done. Instead, he did the one thing that he _wanted_ to do, the only thing that seemed to make any sort of sense in that first, mad moment when he realised he was going to live. He kissed Brienne. Properly. And she kissed him right back.

It was awkward, with the wide barrier of the armrest between them, and the masks getting in the way and bumping against each other.

It was still the best damned kiss Jaime had experienced in his life.

He was going to live. _They_ were going to live.

Her arms where around his neck and his hands were in her hair—short blonde hair, he noticed—when they drew back to look at each other. Brienne's freckled skin was flushed, whether in embarrassment or… something else, he wasn't sure. He could probably take the blame—or credit—for that, either way. It certainly wasn't because it was too hot in here. Now that the lights were back on, for some reason he was more aware of how much the temperature around them had dropped since they'd lost cabin pressure. It was just as well that he was still dressed for Winterfell rather than King's Landing.

He felt Brienne tremble against him, whether from the chill or… something else, and then her arms were slipping from around his neck, and she was moving back into her seat, moving away from him.

Jaime wanted to protest, but he stopped himself when he saw her head fall back wearily against the seat as she closed her eyes. Her brow was creased in a frown and there was a tension to her jaw that hadn't been there a moment ago. He reached up and touched two fingers to her jaw. Her eyes snapped open and she turned to look at him.

Jaime raised his eyebrows in a silent question, and Brienne immediately leaned in to hear what he had to say. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She grimaced as she turned towards his ear. "Splitting headache." She frowned. "Did you know your ear's bleeding?"

Jaime's eyebrows rose, of their own accord this time. "No," he said, though of course she couldn't hear him. He shook his head. Ow. His ears really hurt.

Brienne arched her hips and reached down into the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a clean but slightly crumpled tissue, and handed it to him.

 _Thanks_ , he mouthed, and pressed it to one ear and then the other. It came away covered in little speckles of blood both times. The memory came unbidden: three drops of his own blood, in a bowl of water. But there were no swirling red snakes this time. And no doom. The old woman had been right about his rise—if you took that to mean his rise in the business world—and she'd been right about the betrayal he'd suffered. But then again, anyone who knew anything about the Lannisters could easily have predicted that _someone_ would probably try to betray any of them at some point—and the culprit would most likely be another Lannister, as it had turned out. Madame Maggy had even been right about his fall, though, if falling out of the sky in a jet airliner counted, and Jaime was pretty sure that it did.

She'd just been wrong about the doom. So long as the plane landed safely, Jaime would not meet his doom in the Riverlands. And surely the plane would land safely now that the engines were working again. Surely.

He turned to look at Brienne. He still didn't have a good idea of what she looked like, apart from blonde hair, freckles and those amazingly blue eyes of hers. He'd have to wait until they were close to landing before he would have the chance to see her without an oxygen mask obscuring the rest of her face.

He leaned back against his seat, feeling suddenly deathly tired. Who knew how long it would be before he made it to any sort of proper bed tonight?

There was a soft chime, and then the captain's voice addressed them again: " _This is the captain. We've now descended to an altitude below three thousand metres or ten thousand feet and it's safe to remove your oxygen masks. If you are experiencing breathing difficulties, please continue to use your mask. Our crew will be ready to help as soon as we've completed our descent into Riverrun._ "

Jaime wasted no time in pulling off his mask. "Well, thank the gods for that," he said, only then realising that even though the lights were back on and his mask was off there was still too much noise to be heard without shouting. There were thumps and bumps from the continuing turbulence, and several passengers seemed to have exchanged their earlier shrieks and screams for long, high keening—not to mention the unnatural squeal of the engines. In all his years of flying, Jaime had never heard a jet engine make a sound like that.

He wasn't going to waste time dwelling on it, though. They _would_ make it to the ground safely. Jaime wouldn't allow for anything else.

He turned his head to look at Brienne again, and found that she was watching him. Eyes as blue as the sea dominated her broad, freckled face, but he already knew that. And he knew those full lips below better than all the rest, knew how soft they were, how plump and kissable. He hadn't expected the crooked nose, but somehow it was a fit with all the rest. It was a face filled with character and could belong to no one else.

Brienne turned quickly away, flustered. Jaime reached up and touched her cheek, so that she really had no choice but to look at him again. As she watched, he laid his hand down on the armrest between them, palm up, and then looked from his hand back up into her eyes.

He didn't have to say a word, but he really hadn't expected that he would need to. Brienne's hand found his and clasped it tight—though not quite so tight as before, when they were in the dark and facing what they thought was the end.

This was different. Everything was different now. It felt as if a page had been turned. A new leaf. He'd started down a new path, though he didn't yet know the direction it was taking.

They were still holding hands when the plane's wheels hit the ground with a shuddering jolt. A cheer went up throughout the plane, followed by loud applause as they taxied along the runway and at last came to a stop.

" _This is the captain speaking. As you're no doubt aware, ladies and gents, we've landed at Riverrun in the Riverlands. Please remain in your seats until directed to do otherwise by a member of the crew. Our cabin crew are clearing the aisle and are ready to assist anyone who may be in need of help. Further assistance will be provided inside the terminal. It's currently eight degrees Celsius here in Riverrun tonight and the time is 9.32pm. Thank you for choosing to fly with North Air. On behalf of myself and the crew, I wish you a pleasant evening._ "

Jaime shared a look with Brienne. _Well, that was more than a little surreal._ It occurred to him then that he could say it out loud now that noise levels were down to something like normal, so he did: "Well, that was more than a little surreal."

"Yes," Brienne agreed, and let go of his hand. She kept darting little glances at him, as if she couldn't quite bring herself to look at him for long.

Jaime kept looking at her steadily, though, feeling the loss of her warmth, and not just the warmth of her hand. She was retreating from him, hiding behind the barrier of suddenly wary blue eyes.

"Do either of you require any assistance?" The female crew member's voice intruded so suddenly that Jaime jumped.

"No, thank you. We're both fine." He didn't see any real need to mention Brienne's headache or the little bit of blood in his ears. It wasn't as if the flight attendant could do anything about that sort of thing.

"In that case, as our business class passengers, you are welcome to depart whenever you wish."

Brienne unfastened her seatbelt and got swiftly to her feet. Jaime's gaze followed her up. He had been right. She really was _tall_. Not that he minded that. Like everything else he had learned about her so far, little as that was, it just made him more intrigued.

"Uh, I'm not actually a business class passenger," she said. "I ended up here because I was using the toilet when we hit the turbulence, and I couldn't get back, so my hand luggage is still back at my seat."

A tiny frown creased the flight attendant's brow for a second, as if disapproving of an economy class passenger sitting in a business class seat even in circumstances like the ones they'd just been through. Then her face smoothed out again, and her expression was as politely professional as her voice as she said, "That's quite all right, ma'am. Don't worry about it. Any hand luggage that has been left behind once every passenger has deplaned will be transferred to the lost luggage office in the terminal."

"I'd really rather just go back and get my bag and coat now, if that's all right," Brienne said.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that. The situation in the economy class cabin-"

"Perhaps you could retrieve my friend's hand luggage for her in that case?" Jaime interrupted. "As a personal favour to me." He turned the full force of his patented sleepy-eyed look on the flight attendant, gazing up at her from beneath long, golden lashes, and let his lips curve into a slow smile.

The flight attendant swallowed. "Of-of course, Mr Lannister," she said, her professional tones turning into something more like a squeak.

"I was in seat 12B," Brienne told her. "My bag and coat should be in the locker overhead. A small black backpack with a light blue zipper, and a navy pea coat—in a large size, obviously."

The flight attendant nodded, disappearing without another word through the curtain that led to the galley and then to the economy class cabin beyond.

"Mr _Lannister_?" Brienne was looking at him properly again, but Jaime wasn't entirely sure that he welcomed that look.

"Yes, that's my name. Jaime Lannister," he said, as lightly as he could.

"You're one of _those_ Lannisters, aren't you?" His name didn't sound exactly like a compliment when she said it like that. "I… I didn't realise."

"Why should you? I still don't know your full name, _Brienne_."

"It's Tarth," she said. "Brienne Tarth."

"A Stormlands name." Her eyes widened a little at that, and he felt annoyed for reasons that he couldn't quite identify. "What? A Lannister isn't supposed to know about anything outside the Westerlands and King's Landing?" he asked, and then added, in as gentle a voice as he could manage, "I'm still the same person who just sat through all that with you. We just looked the Stranger in the face together, Brienne, and lived to tell the tale. How many people can say that about anyone?"

She bit her lip. "Yeah, okay," she said, and sighed, looking suddenly, unutterably weary.

Jaime unfastened his seatbelt and got up. And yes, she really was tall, even taller than he was, by a little bit. He'd never met a woman he could look straight in the eyes when standing before. "Let's get out of here as soon as the flight attendant returns with your things. I don't know about you, but after all that, I need a drink. A strong one. Let me buy you a drink as well."

He could see the indecision, clear as day, in her blue, blue eyes. Part of her wanted to decline, but the other part of her, the part that couldn't deny what they'd just lived through together...

"We'll probably be waiting around for hours for another flight," he pointed out when she remained silent.

"I-" Brienne began, and of course—of _bloody_ course—that was when the flight attendant re-appeared, carrying a small, black backpack sporting incongruously bright blue zippers, and with a navy pea coat folded over her arm.

"Are these your possessions, ma'am?" the flight attendant asked.

"Yes, those are mine. Thank you," Brienne said, relief clear in her voice. She took them from the flight attendant, setting the backpack down on her seat as she shrugged into the coat.

"If you and Mr Lannister would care to depart now, ma'am?" the flight attendant said, once Brienne had done up the buttons on her coat.

Jaime looked around, and realised that the other ten seats in the business class cabin were vacant. The rest of the business passengers had left and he hadn't even noticed. "Let's go," he said to Brienne. "And then that drink?"

"I… All right," Brienne said.

Jaime flashed her a smile.

It was a weird feeling being farewelled by a flight attendant at the door, just as if this had been any other flight. It was weird—but in a different, better way—to have Brienne's company as he walked up the jetway ramp to the terminal. Jaime almost always flew alone on business trips, and he travelled for business far more often than he ever did for pleasure.

He felt… weird in general. There were still some vestiges of the unnatural calm he'd felt when he thought he was facing death, and laced over the top of that were the last traces of the burst of wild relief that had had him kissing Brienne in exuberant joy when it turned out that they weren't going to die after all. But there were other feelings mixed up in his current mood as well, feelings he couldn't quite place, or put a name to. He just felt… weird.

They reached the doorway into the terminal, but before Jaime could look around to find a sign pointing to the baggage claim—not to mention the bar—a young woman wearing a North Air uniform and a bland, professional smile, stepped in front of them.

"If you'll come with me, please?" she said. "We have medical staff waiting to examine every passenger from this flight. It's airline policy after any in-flight incident."

Jaime wanted to object. He wanted to tell her where she could shove her bloody airline policy. He had better things to do with the time he'd been unexpectedly gifted back after their incompetence had threatened to take it away for good. He-

"Okay," Brienne said, and that was that.

It wasn't far to the series of little cubicles behind the main security desk. "This is probably where they interrogate drug couriers," he muttered to Brienne.

"I don't think…" Brienne gave him a frowning look, but the hint of a smile around the edges of her mouth betrayed her. She wasn't anything like as serious as she was trying to pretend. "Who'd need to smuggle drugs into the the Riverlands?"

And yes, that was a good point, but Jaime shrugged. "How should I know? I've never been to the Riverlands before."

Brienne continued to frown. "Why not?"

"Have you been to everywhere in Westeros?"

"No, but the Riverlands are pretty central. Most people have at least travelled through them at some point."

"I'm not most people."

The look Brienne sent him then clearly said, _Well, **obviously**_ , but before she could follow it up with actual words they were both being politely but firmly hustled into the nearest two cubicles.

The examination was about as pleasant as such things usually were, which was to say, not very. Jaime was surprised to see the beginnings of a bruise just above his knee. He hadn't been aware of it until the doctor poked it. His leg must have bumped the armrest hard at some point in the darkness, most likely when Brienne fell onto him.

The doctor spent more time than Jaime thought was really warranted inspecting his ears, particularly since she finally pronounced that nothing would heal them but time. After what seemed like about halfway to forever, the doctor let him get dressed, issued him with a strip of painkillers to help with the earaches that, she assured him, he'd be dealing with for the next little while, and sent him on his way.

Jaime emerged from the cubicle and looked around. There was no sign of Brienne, but a queue of people—all passengers from their flight, presumably—had formed by the security desk while the doctor had been taking her own sweet time examining Jaime. The door to the other cubicle was still shut.

"The lady who was with me when I arrived. Is she still in there?" he asked the security officer at the desk, nodding at the cubicle.

The man shrugged. "Sorry, I don't know."

"She's blonde. Very tall. You would have noticed her if you'd seen her."

"Oh, yeah. I saw her. She left a few minutes ago."

"Did you see which way she went?" Jaime prompted, when the man did not elaborate and just kept staring back at him like some sort of imbecile.

"Off that way somewhere, I think." The man gestured vaguely. "She might have gone to the baggage claim. Or maybe not.”

Jaime nodded, but he didn't bother to say 'thank you'. Thanks had to be earned, so far as he was concerned.

He followed the signs to the baggage claim. How many years had it been since he'd last had to worry about collecting his own luggage? Maybe not since that time when he'd been travelling around the back of beyond in Dorne with Addam, right after they'd finished school. It was just one more detail that added to the feeling of unreality that this night had brought. Amazingly, the baggage from their flight had already been unloaded. He retrieved his bag quickly enough since there wasn't much of a crowd. Most of the rest of the passengers were probably still upstairs waiting to see the medical staff.

There was no sign of Brienne. She must have already been and gone, if she'd come here at all.

Jaime considered putting a call out for her over the airport public address system, but… Well, maybe she didn't want to be found. Maybe she'd thought better of accepting that drink from him. If she'd wanted to wait for him after seeing the doctor, she would have. He couldn't really blame her. He was a stranger, and one she'd met in the most unexpected of circumstances. Of course she'd changed her mind once she'd had the chance to think things over.

He just… He would have liked the opportunity to at least say goodbye.

Sighing, he went over to the airline's check-in, to find out when they could get him on a flight.

It didn't take him long to arrange to be on the next flight out of Riverrun to King's Landing and check-in his luggage. All he had to do was mention his name, and the young woman at the check-in desk was only too pleased to do everything within her power for him. Unfortunately, there was no power in the world that could get him on a plane that hadn't yet arrived, so he was going to be stuck here for the best part of two hours.

It was definitely time for that drink, with or without company. The check-in attendant directed him to the business class lounge, and soon Jaime was settled at a corner table, nursing a very large Scotch on the rocks. He didn't drink more than one or two sips before he set it down on the table, though. Having finally sat down, and with no more tasks to see to until he boarded his flight, it was as if the memory of everything he'd been through tonight weighed down on him at once. He buried his face in his hands and just stayed like that, not thinking or feeling anything coherent, for what felt like a long time.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

Jaime's mind came crashing back to reality even as his face looked up. Brienne was standing by his table, wearing her pea coat and holding her backpack by one strap. Her face was pale and drawn, and her hair untidy, but the way her blue eyes looked down into his… She was the most beautiful sight he'd ever laid eyes on.

"Of course you can sit here!" he said, waving her into the other chair.

"I'm sorry for crashing in on you like this," she said as she sat down, echoing the first words she'd said to him back on the plane. "I don't know if you've noticed, but they've brought all of the passengers from our flight in here to keep them away from the reporters from the local TV station, and there aren't any spare tables left."

"Under the circumstances, it's not a problem," he assured her, just as he'd done then. He tried to smile, but the muscles of his face felt stiff, as if they'd forgotten how to do it.

"Jaime!" Brienne's eyes were wide and blue and full of concern. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," he said, and tried to smile again. "What made you think I wasn't all right?" He shouldn't have asked that, of course. He wouldn't have asked that in any other situation, or, probably, of any other person.

"You're crying," Brienne said, very quietly.

Was he? He reached up, and found to his great surprise that his cheeks were wet.

Brienne lifted her hand, as if to reach across and brush away his tears, but her hand stilled in mid air. She turned it, so that her palm was facing her, and stared at it. Her hand was trembling violently.

"I think maybe you need that drink now," Jaime said, and signalled a waiter. Despite the dozens of people crowded into the room, surely more people than the business class lounge at Riverrun had ever seen at any one time, the waiter spotted Jaime's raised hand and came over. "A double Scotch on the rocks, and whatever the lady might like."

"A gin and tonic, please," Brienne said. Something in the way she said it gave Jaime the distinct impression that she didn't necessarily want a gin and tonic, but that it was simply the first—and possibly only—drink that had popped into her head.

The waiter nodded, and hurried away.

Brienne reached down to her backpack. It took her longer than it should have to unzip it, but she managed it in the end, and then held out a tissue to Jaime in her still shaking hand.

"Thanks." He took it with a half-smile that felt a little more natural than the last couple he'd attempted, and wiped the moisture from his face.

Neither of them said anything more for a while. Jaime, usually the first with an easy quip or a cutting witticism, was all out of words, and Brienne didn't seem to be any better.

The waiter returned with their drinks order, but when he tried to set the Scotch down in front of Jaime, Jaime shook his head. "They're both for the lady."

"But Jaime-" Brienne started to object.

"I've already got a Scotch of my own. Right now, you need a few sips of that. Trust me."

Brienne gave him a look that said she wasn't sure about this, but his last two words, which Jaime had added without even really thinking about what he was saying, did the trick. She _did_ trust him. The truth of it was there in those blue eyes of hers that betrayed her every mood.

She might be the only person in the world, apart from Tyrion and Addam, who did trust him.

Jaime swallowed hard. He was _not_ going to start crying again. It was utterly ridiculous to think that he'd cried at all.

Brienne raised the glass of Scotch to her lips with a trembling hand. It sloshed a little on the way, but she managed a cautious sip. She coughed a bit as it went down, but he saw the moment when the calming burn of it settled in her stomach. Her hand was shaking noticeably less as she took another sip.

"It works," she said, sounding surprised, as she set the glass down on the table in front of her.

"I told you," Jaime said.

"You should drink some of yours," she said, looking down at his glass and then up into his eyes.

And what could Jaime say or do in the face of that? Nothing, except to take his Scotch and sip it. He let out a long breath as the whisky did its work and some of the tension left him.

Brienne was still watching him as returned his glass to the table.

"Did you manage to get a seat on another flight?" he asked. He wasn't going to ask where she'd disappeared to. If she wanted to tell him, she could, but he wasn't going to push it. He knew that seeing her again at all was something like the sort of miracle that he'd stopped believing in years ago.

"No," she said, letting out a despondent sigh. "I'm on standby for the first available seat—or so they said—but I'll probably be here all night."

Jaime could have been indignant on her behalf that the airline hadn't even bothered to offer her accommodation for the night, and, in fact, he _was_ indignant about it, but he didn't waste his breath talking. Not when he had something better to offer her.

He cleared his throat. "I, uh, I _did_ get a seat on the next flight to King's Landing."

"Of course you did." Brienne sighed again, but the look on her face was something close to fond.

"I didn't just book one ticket. I got two," he said in a rush. "The second one's for you, if you want to take it." He held his breath.

"Oh, Jaime, I couldn't," she said, because of course Brienne was exactly the sort of person who would say that. Not that Jaime had ever met many people who would turn down a freebie from a Lannister, but he knew they must be out there somewhere. And now, it seemed, there was one right here.

"Oh, yes, you could," he said. "And you will. Please. I could do with the company, apart from anything else."

"You've booked the seat next to yours? For me?" Brienne sounded as if she couldn't quite believe it.

"Of course. I can hardly talk to you if you're back in the depths of economy class somewhere."

Brienne grinned shakily, and took another sip of her Scotch. The gin and tonic still sat untouched beside it. "I suppose I can't say no," she said. "It looks like we're doomed to sit next to each other tonight, no matter where we are." She let out a laugh as shaky as her grin had been.

Jaime stared at her. "What did you just say?" he demanded, and then waved her silent as she started to repeat herself. "No, no, I heard you. It's just…"

What had Madame Maggy said all those years ago? How had she phrased it? He'd thought her words had meant that he was going to die in the Riverlands, but she hadn't actually said that. She'd said that he would fall, and that he'd meet his doom in the Riverlands. Well, tonight he'd fallen, well and truly, maybe in more ways than one, before, during and after he'd met Brienne. Technically, they'd met _above_ the Riverlands, but they hadn't properly introduced themselves until their plane had landed. In the Riverlands.

He'd met Brienne, his doom, in the Riverlands.

Jaime threw back his head and laughed. Maybe he sounded more than a little hysterical, because once he'd stopped laughing and wiped his eyes with the tissue, Brienne asked him again if he was all right.

"I'm fine," he said, and this time he actually meant it. "At least, I'll _be_ fine. I just… I can't explain it right now. You wouldn't believe me."

"Okaaay," Brienne said, watching him a little warily.

"I'll tell you some other time," he assured her.

"You seem very sure that we're going to see each other again," Brienne said dryly.

"Oh, we will," Jaime said. That was something he was in absolutely no doubt about. Every single thing that Madame Maggy had predicted had come true, at least if you looked at it from a certain perspective.

Everything was clear to him now, in a way it hadn't been before, and that included the way ahead.

Jaime smiled, properly at last, as he raised his glass. After a second Brienne raised her glass as well, with a steady hand this time, and as their glasses clinked together she smiled right back.


End file.
